


the bloodiness of your heart

by ladyfenharel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, it's going to be a pre and post story, no cheating involved bc i hate cheaters :-)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8946925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfenharel/pseuds/ladyfenharel
Summary: Orders of chocolat chaud filled the cafe, and the street lamps outside clicked on. Amelie leanedcloser, filling Lena’s nose with the scent of lavender and cocoa butter. “I dance. Would youlike to come to a show Friday evening?”                                                       For a brief moment, Lena wondered if this Amelie had everhad a person say no to her in her lifetime. “I’d love to.” //Time makes everything more complicated. (Something Lena should have learned by now.)





	1. on your intricately brocaded throne

The Parisian air smelled of baguettes and coffee. Winter favoured the city, the coloured lights hanging from shops adding warmth to the hustle and bustle of daily life. Add in a cloudy sky and it almost reminded Lena of home.

Overwatch was holding a weekend long conference in Paris, with agents flying in from every Watchpoint. She had just touched down an hour ago, and needed some fuel before hitting the hay for the night. What she wouldn’t give for a smoked tofu wrap from Mildred’s. She slipped into a small eatery off of the main street and scanned the menu.

The barista smiled at her. “Est-ce que vous voulez commander ?” 

“Ah… yea! So, how bout  _ le sandwich _ , vegetarian? Y’got that here?”

The petite blonde behind the counter screwed up her face. “Pouvez-vous parler plus  _ lentement _ ?”

She stumbled for her phone to pull up a translator. “Oh bloody- why did I ‘ave to take Latin courses in school, what good’s a dead language doing for me-” 

A tall form pressed past her, dropping some euro on the counter. “Je vais prendre sandwich aux crudités et deux thés, s’il vous plaît.”

The blonde inclined her head and hurried off to prepare her order. Lena wrinkled her nose. “I was in line,” she started, pausing when she saw black eyes gazing at her.

“It is generally considered polite to learn  _ at least _ the basics of the language when one visits a foreign country.”

She shrunk under the woman’s raised brow and impeccable posture. “I’m only here for a week, an’ if I learned every language of every country I’ve been in I wouldn’t have any room for anything else!”

The dark eyes flicked to Lena’s chronal accelerator, which was glowing brightly beneath her parka. The stranger’s face warmed. “Overwatch,  _ non _ ?”

A smile pulled across her face. “Yep, travel an awful lotta places with these guys. Always an adventure.”

The barista placed the plates on the counter adjacent to them, the clink echoing throughout the barren shop. “Bon appétit.”

The stranger inclined her head and thanked her (Lena knew  _ that _ much French, after all,) and headed to a table in the corner of the cafe. “Come, eat with me- I want to hear of your adventures. Unless you have urgent matters to attend to?”

The tone of her voice was playful, and Lena found she very much enjoyed French accents. She brushed her fingers through her bangs, pretending to think. “I think I could spare some time for an adoring fan.”

She grabbed her food and sat beside the dark haired French woman. She offered her hand to greet her, but found herself being pulled in, a soft kiss pressing against her cheek. “Amelie. Charmed.”

“I’m-” she found herself deciding between which name to give, always torn between her two worlds. The echo of warm lips lingering on her face didn’t help. “Tracer.”

Amelie leaned back, a knowing glint in her eye. “Indeed. How do you like Paris, Tracer?”

She scrunched up her nose and took a sip from the tea in front of her. “Shite, that’s hot. Ah, well Paris is pretty, innit?”

A sweet laugh rang from Amelie, lighting up her features. “They don’t give you time to explore the cities they shove you off to? Zat is utterly cruel.” 

“Tell me about it. We usually have a day at most to check stuff out.” She shoved the sandwich in her mouth, her stomach begging for more than the sole pack of peanuts she had eaten on the flight. “But I’ve seen more with ‘em than I would have if I’d taken some bleedin’ desk job back home. I still count myself lucky.”

Black silk pooled over Amelie’s shoulders as she tilted her head.  Above the white porcelain cup she sipped slowly from, her dark eyes poured over Lena. “You must meet many _ ‘ _ adoring fans,’ as you say. They are calling zis time the Overwatch Generation, after all.”

Tracer laughed, throwing her head back. “‘M still not used to seeing my bright yellow arse posted on the cover of People mag.”

Amelie’s laughter rang like the peal of sleigh bells, her soft lips curving around sharp incisors. She brushed her long, slim fingers against Tracer’s legs. “To be accomplished so young,  _ and _ witty- you truly are putting ze rest of us to shame, Tracer.”

Her callsign sounded so pretty in her mouth, Lena wondered what her real name might sound like. She flushed, at the compliment and the thoughts crowding her head. “Lots of pretty words from such a pretty face, luv.” She finished off the sandwich, avoiding the warm gaze beside her. “We’ve talked an awful lot about me. Do you live in Paris? Holiday shopping for anyone?”

Her long, pale fingers wrapped around the coffee cup. She stared out the window, the last bits of sunlight illuminating her porcelain skin. “ _ Oui,  _ I live close to here, actually _.  _ But no- I don’t really celebrate ze holidays. But, I like to walk around in ze little free time I have; there is a lovely feeling this time of year in Paris.”

Lena’s brows furrowed. “No holidays at all? Hanukkah? Christmas? Or because you’re so busy? Whatddya do for work?”

The cafe began crowding with more people, seeking the warmth as snow began to fall. Orders of _ chocolat chaud  _ filled the space, and the street lamps outside clicked on. Amelie leaned closer, filling Lena’s nose with the scent of lavender and cocoa butter. “I dance. Would you like to come to a show Friday evening?”

For a brief moment, Lena wondered if this Amelie had ever had a person say no to her in her lifetime. “I’d love to.” She pulled up the conference schedule on her phone. “I get off at five that day. What time’s your show at? How much are the tickets?”

Amelie reached into her black shoulder bag, pulling out a golden-bordered ticket. “Here’s two, in case you would like to bring someone. I must get back to rehearsal, I’m afraid. The Friday show begins at seven.”

She stood, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks. When she pulled away, Lena found herself catching her hand. “Thank you, Amelie. I- ah- I’m not bringin’ anyone.”

Amelie hummed a noise of contentment, a smile softening her eyes at the meaning. “ _ Au revoir, _ Tracer.”

She watched the tall black form disappear into the crowds, entranced by the soft sway of this stranger’s hips. She slumped back, finishing her tea and running fingers through her bangs. “Oi, alright then.”

One day between her and a- was it a date when the other person was the one on the stage? Lena wasn’t sure, but she felt a flutter of jitters in her belly nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's gonna get explicit dont u folks worry. anyways here's a celebration of the holiday season and TRACER BEING A CANON GAY. my lesbian heart is filled to the brim


	2. for myself in my frenzied heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[nsfw]]

 

Sometimes Tracer forgot just how big Overwatch was. She should know- considering she started out as just a pilot- that the Heroes weren’t the only ones that made Overwatch what it was. But she still couldn’t tear her eyes from the crowd of heads that stood in front of her as they made their way through the security checks. Friday was an all-business day; her schedule was filled with meetings and talks that spanned everything from finance to security to the bloody outfits the Heroes wore. After today, the conference hall allowed the public in, with meet and greets and photo opportunities. Lena loved that part.

The security machine beeped blue, allowing her through its field. She marvelled at the architecture of the convention center. The French people sure loved stuff to be pretty. She wondered absently if Amelie was rehearsing for tonight.

“ _ Tracer! _ ”

The telltale boom of Winston’s voice made the crowds pause for a moment. A path cleared for him as he ran towards her, shaking the ground beneath them. “Oi, Winston, my favourite gorilla, how’s it-”

“You’re late! The chronal accelerator literally allows you to bend time and you are late! You’re speaking in the main hall in five minutes!”

He grasped her by the arm and pulled her along. She scrunched her nose. “Whoa there- listen mate, nobody told me to prepare a speech-”

“It’s in your email, last night at 8:32 PM.” Winston had a penchant for numbers. “Ang- Mercy had an emergency to attend to, so I need you to open with something inspiring before we talk about our mission statement. You just need to talk. You’re good at that.”

Lena huffed.

Winston weaved them in between chatting colleagues and the lower-ranking Overwatch members- Lena could tell who those ones were by the glaze of worship that passed over their faces. She threw a wink at a pretty blonde one, and watched a blaze of pink take over the girl’s cheeks. A growl rumbled from in front of her. “Not time for fraternizing.”

The crowd’s murmurs buzzed like white noise through the curtains backstage. It seemed like the buzzing flew up straight into Lena’s belly. “Winston, I’unno about this-”

“Your story has been all over the magazines and press, Tracer.  _ The disappearing girl,  _ they called you until I built that-” his chunky finger pressed against her accelerator- “Stop letting other people tell your story.”

He pressed the small of her back, nudging her towards the curtains. Upbeat music faded out as the stage crew fitted a mic on her. She adjusted her bowtie and blazer and let a smile spread across her face.

“And now, please welcome a girl who was lost to us for months before Overwatch’s lead scientist anchored her to reality. Callsign: Tracer!”

The omnic waved her on and applause rippled across the auditorium. Tracer blinked onto the stage and bowed at the waist. “Cheers, luv!”

The announcer exited and Tracer took in the thousands seated in the audience. The lights above her made it hard to make out their faces, but she could tell they were filled up. Cameras were positioned on either side and in the center of the rows and she wondered if it was for internal purposes or the telly- surely Winston would have told her if this was going up for the public to see.

She stepped towards the podium and coughed. “Alright, so I wasn’t supposed to be the one up here- which you’ll probably be able to tell by this speech- but I’m whatcha get.” A few chuckles spread and she ruffled her fringe. “This is a big event, innit? Celebrating Overwatch’s victory in King’s Row, against Null Sector- it was a hard decision to make, politicking and all that, but the world could always use more heroes.”

It was easy for her to speak about their work- she believed wholeheartedly in what they stood for. She continued talking about the organization, how she had started out as just a fighter pilot. “But, apparently the best way to get a promotion is to get lost in time and space for a few months.” She gestured to her accelerator. “Work-life commitment right here.” 

She ignored the pang of despair that shot through her spine at the mention of the incident, instead reveling in the laughter of her people. She noticed the diversity of faces in the crowd: old and young, omnics and humans. They all fought for the same thing.

“I dunno, it’s easy to get caught up in the bad things. There’s so much of it. We wake up in the morning and read our feeds, and it’s just  _ this many people are dying _ ,  _ this city is under siege _ -” she noted the heavy silence- “But people forget about the good. Last week I was at a site in Russia, and there had been a bombing. Explosions were still going off across the city, people were screaming- ah, shite, maybe cover the kids’ ears for this one- and the carnage, it was massive. Like nothing I’d seen before.” The heat from the flames still seared into her skin. “My team and I rushed in, trying to evacuate as many people as we could, right? And I flicker ahead to the centre of the city, where this girl- couldn’t have been more than twelve- is  _ protecting _ a group of children. They’re holed up in some shack, while she stands outside, some metal thing held out in front of her like a shield- like a piece of scrap could stop an omnic. Her city was literally burning down around her, and she is resisting- in the face of the flames, she thought about what she could do to help her people.” 

Lena swallowed, wetness blurring her vision. 

“And I think that’s what Overwatch wants to be. Amidst war and ruin, we look for the hope. Among all the bad, we’re going to find the good- because it’s always there, yea? The good is always there.”

A mixture of emotions bottled within her threatened to spill over, so she ended her story with another theatrical bow. The audience remained quiet for a beat, and then the clapping began. It inundated the room. Row by row, the auditorium stood, some waving their hands, others yelling out her callsign. 

“Aw, stop- You’re all bloody brilliant!”

She zipped off the stage, letting warm tears leak from her eyes. People whose faces were blurred surrounded her, clapping her back and congratulating her, until the stern face of her favourite gorilla cleared the huddle. “You just _ swore _ on national television, Tracer.”

He smothered her in a hug, the hairs of his chest absorbing her tears. She swatted him as best she could from her position with a choked laugh. “That ranks among the top worst things you’ve ever made me do, Win. You’re bleedin’ lucky I only said  _ one. _ ”

 

***

 

She blinked between the dresser and the mirror, switching between a red tie and a black bowtie. Her accelerator hummed with energy, mimicking the flutters in her belly.

18:25 glowed menacingly from her phone. Time was always against her.

She decided on the red tie and fastened her suspenders. The hanger she slipped her coat from flew off the rack, landing somewhere behind her. She wrapped the plaid scarf Rein had bought her as a birthday present around her neck and zipped out of the hotel room. 

The cab ride over took a gruelingly long time. Snow fell on the city, coating the terraces and pathways in a light blanket. 

When they were a few blocks from the theatre, stuck in a line of traffic, Tracer paid the fare and fumbled over her thank you. If only she could learn languages as easily as Angela- she had yet to witness the medic unable to communicate with any patient so far.

Lena zipped across the streets, pulling out the ticket as she neared the box office.

“ _ Bon spectacle _ .”

She grabbed a glass of wine and found her seat. In the front row. High class.

An announcer pleaded with the audience- in three languages- to shut off all electronics and recording devices. The lights dimmed, and the orchestra beneath her began a slow song. With each chime of the bell, two pairs of dancers prance on stage. After a while, the stage is filled with ballerinas in white. When the criss-cross the stage, they look a bit like the snow outside.

Lena never realized how much of ballet was long legs and arching backs.

Then, the dancers in white parted like the sea, the lights on stage dimming. A soft white halo searched the centre, halting when a curtain of luxurious black hair entered.

Lena’s heart jumped into her throat, and suddenly she was sitting forward, entranced.

A luminescent black jumpsuit clung  to Amelie’s torso. The cut of the suit accentuated the hard lines of her hips curving into her thighs. She spun slowly onto centre stage, each turn feeling like it happened outside of time. She sunk into a split, dipping her head down to the floor. Silken hair splayed around her, a dark contrast to the motionless snowflakes surrounding her.

When she looked up, eyes blackened with makeup, she met Tracer’s gaze. 

The music crescendoed and the dance continued. Lena wasn’t sure if she breathed for the rest of the show, but she knew exactly what she wanted to be doing for the rest of that evening.

The standing ovation at the end of the act shook the theatre. The ballerinas reentered the stage, clasping hands and bowing in turn. When it came to Amelie, roses were thrown on stage, and whistles were called. But she sought out Lena in the crowd, a sparkle in her eye.

When they disappeared once more, the ushers started directing people outside. Lena took the time to slip past the curtains and blink backstage. An omnic in white was walking out, and she caught him on the arm. “Oi, you know where Amelie is?”

The dancer shook off her touch, shifting his faceplates- he looked pissed. “Ze prima ballerina has her own quarters.”

He gestured vaguely in a direction behind him, and shoved past Tracer.

Traveling down the corridor, she noted doors dedicated to hair, makeup, and costuming. At least Overwatch never made her get her face all done up or anything.

At the end was a door with a white star, GUILLARD written across it. Tracer raised her hand to knock, breathing out a shaky breath.

The door swung open. Lena was frozen in place, hand in the air like an idiot.

“How did you like ze show?”

Amelie lounged against the entryway, hips cocked like the sweetest gun Lena’d ever seen. She was still in costume, the dark waterfall of her hair slipping over her shoulder. Tracer cleared her throat. “Not bad.”

The side of her lips quirked up. “Please, come in.”

Golden accents shone throughout the room, decorating the furniture and frames. A faux fur chair sat in front of the mirror bracketed with bright lights. Tracer leaned in to check herself, adjusting her tie. “So, prima ballerina. Nice little place you’ve got in here.”

She caught a faraway look in Amelie’s eyes through the reflection. When she turned, it was gone. The dancer sauntered towards her, brow raised. “It does the trick. I see you too are a performer, _ oisillon _ .”

Lena’s face heated. She was gonna throttle the gorilla. “Ah, you saw the Overwatch broadcast? I had no knowledge of that, to be fair.”

A piece of fringe fell in her face. Amelie reached out, brushing it back. “You were wonderful. It was an honest performance, which is the rarest of them all.” Tracer had to tilt her neck to meet the dark eyes roaming her face. She could feel their breath mixing. “You have a good heart, Tracer.”

She found herself fidgeting with her suspenders. “And your show tonight? Was it honest?”

Amelie’s lithe fingers brushed against the backs of her hands. “Dancing is the only honest thing I do.”

And then her lips were pressed against Tracer’s and she lost any witty retort she might have had. Lavender and cocoa butter filled her nose. It was a soft kiss, a gentle brush of her painted mouth.

The room spun. She pulled back for a breath. “That seemed pretty sincere.”

Amelie slid her hands up the side of her face,  midnight eyes lingering on the swell of her lips. “You talk too much.”

Tracer grinned, then pulled her down for another kiss. This time, she let her tongue dance at the entrance of her mouth, and Amelie acquiesced with a sigh. One hand brushing her jaw, Lena slid the other to the small of her back. It was like flying: adrenaline coursing through her body, nervous fluttering in her stomach, but, above it all, the sense of freedom.

Amelie’s lips left hers, and an embarrassing noise came from Lena at the absence. She trailed her mouth down her chin, across her jaw, settling on the pulse of her neck. She toyed with the delicate skin between her teeth, hands roaming over Tracer’s arse.

The fabric between them was too much to bear. She spun them, pressing Amelie up against the desk. She slid onto the table smoothly, thighs wrapping around Lena’s hips and fingers scrabbling for her tie. The accelerator hindered her progress, though, and Tracer once more bemoaned her former life, a time when she was free of such intrusions. She unbelted the device and dropped it beside them, along with her suspenders. Amelie took the chance to finish off the rest of the buttons, lower lip clutched between her teeth. She shoved the shirt down Lena’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She leaned back to admire, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated. “ _ Magnifique. _ ”

Amelie traced lightly over her nipples, and warmth pooled between her thighs. Lena captured her mouth again, a collision of teeth and tongue and breaths, and slid a hand between them. She dragged her fingers down the seam of the dancer’s leotard, relishing in the hitch of her breath. Slipping the bodysuit to the side, Lena dipped a finger in her wetness, her own hips stuttering at the warmth. Their kisses were wet and sloppy and she wouldn’t have thought Amelie could do anything messily but decided she liked this- liked seeing the prim and proper ballerina coming undone beneath her fingers.

As she circled the spot that made Amelie’s head drop back against the mirror, the door slammed open. “ _ Ç'est quoi ce putain _ ?”

“Aw, bloody-”

Tracer stretched her neck to look over her shoulder, making sure to cover Amelie from whoever was prying. She tried to discreetly slip her fingers out, but Amelie’s hand clamped around her wrist.

A red-faced man with hair blonde as Torbjorn sputtered at the door. He strung together something that Lena deduced would not have made sense even if she knew the language. 

Amelie replied in French, then scoffed at something he said. “I will  _ fuck _ whoever I want.”

“Not in my offices. Zis is your workplace, and if you want to stay on as prima, you will abide by my rules.” He tore his eyes from their bodies, a humourless smirk pulling across his too-thin mouth. “But my bed is rather large, if you two need a place to stay.”

Amelie opened her mouth to reply, but he disappeared, slamming the door. The frames rattled on the walls.

Lena’s nipples hardened- more, if that were possible- and pulled her closer for warmth. “What a wanker. Bossman?”

“Madame Bouchard is my boss. He owns our Ballet Company.” She released Lena’s wrist, the action hesitant. “Are you staying in ze area?”

The words sounded small, different than the hardened woman arguing a few minutes past. Tracer tilted her head, pretending to think. “I can’t remember- might need a pretty ballerina to guide me home.”

She bit her already-swollen lip, teasing a nail along the waistband of her pants. “I’m quite good at knowing where to go.”

Her stomach flipped, like the first time she nosedived in the X-182. This Amelie was going to be the death of her. “Shall we then?”


	3. instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> n s f w  
> (also i retconned a bit-- the chapters so far take place after king's row uprising)

The hotel suite felt too small for all the things Lena wanted to do to Amelie. When they entered, Tracer rid herself of her jacket and shoes. After doing the same, the ballerina backed her up against the door. Their breaths danced between them.

She yearned to kiss the pout of her mouth. “You look delicious, luv.”

A manicured finger dragged down between the open buttons of her shirt. “I taste even better,  _ cherie. _ ”

Lena ran her hands through her hair, pulling so that she tipped Amelie’s chin upwards. She mouthed down the curve of her neck, relishing the cocoa butter scent and warmth of her skin.

She walked them backwards, letting her hands explore the curves and muscles of Amelie’s body. Mesmerizing.

Amelie spun them, throwing Tracer onto the sheets.

“Oi- you’re stronger than you look.”

A twitch of the corner of her lips disappeared as soon as it came. “I am a great deal more than I look, Tracer.”

Her eyelids fluttered involuntarily. She was still wet from their earlier soiree, and eager besides- hearing her name didn’t ease the ache. So she pulled the dark-haired temptress down to her, crashing their lips together.

Amelie’s costume still clung tight to her body. Tracer pulled the bodysuit down her shoulders, kissing along pronounced collarbones. “This shite is glued to you, innit?”

She laughed, like the peal of bells. Her fingers circled the blue light upon her chest.  “Coming from you?”

Tracer propped herself on her elbows and unclipped the straps. It fell with a soft thud to the floor. She worked off the few buttons left done up her own shirt.

Then Amelie was stepping out of her costume, making it a little harder for Lena to breathe. She leaned forward, feeling her blood and bones pulling towards this otherworldly human in a way that made every part of her ache. Only a neat triangle of dark hair separated her from what she’d thought about for the past hours. (But she wouldn’t go there yet.) Lena let her fingers dance across the jagged purple stripes on her wide hips, memorizing how they curved into strong thighs. Amelie stepped closer, tugging at her trousers. She lifted her hips up, letting perfectly manicured fingers drag them off her body.

With only the cool air to adorn them, she climbed on top of Lena, thighs bracketing her hips. Mindlessly, she sat up, running her hands up every stretch of porcelain skin. She found that when she dragged her nails along the underside of Amelie’s thighs, her body trembled.

Then their mouths were occupied with each other once more. Amelie ground her hips slowly, mewling pretty noises against Tracer’s tongue. Her hands were everywhere: grasping the hair at the nape of Lena’s neck, caressing the sides of her breasts, trailing down the expanse of her back. 

Lena nearly growled when Amelie ground against her thigh, coating it in a wet sheen. She dragged her kisses down the pale throat, exhaling a shaky breath as she came to her nipple. Amelie groaned. “Please.”

Ever the altruist, she licked a stripe across the swollen bud. The dark eyes looking down at her rolled back, her back arching to get more friction. Lena slid her hands to the bottom of her thighs, relishing in the strength of the muscles flexing beneath her touch. But she was tired of the teasing, now. Digging her fingers into her arse, she flipped them so Amelie’s back was on the bed, looking up at her with invitation in her eyes. It was easy to admire the way her pool of inky hair spread out around her, chest heaving and lips parted; some terrible siren come to lure Lena away from her life.

She pressed a kiss to the sliver of pale skin between her breasts, pinching both nipples. Amelie’s back arched in a way she didn’t think humanly possible, a breathy moan escaping her, and Tracer slid down the bed. A shock of red hot  _ need _ coursed through her core, clouding her thoughts and making it hard to catch her breath. She hooked Amelie’s legs on her shoulders, dragging her lips along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. One hand wrapped around her hips to rest at the top of her mound, above the trimmed triangle of dark hair, while she let the other gently open Amelie’s folds. The scent of her arousal dizzied her, and she found a shaky groan slip from her mouth. 

Lena flattened her tongue along the shimmering slit, reveling in the sharp taste of her. Amelie slipped a hand in her hair, keeping her trapped between her thighs.  (Not an awful web to be ensnared in.) Her own hips undulated against the edge of the mattress, desperate for friction. 

She licked stripes up and down her lips, trying not to fuck as eager as she felt. Amelie arched more with each go. Her free hand roamed across the milky white planes of her stomach, to the swell of her breast. She was so bloody _ soft.  _ And the little  _ ah’ _ s she made--

“Prends-moi, prends-moi,” she begged.

Lena didn’t know French, but she knew what Amelie was asking.

She closed her lips around the bundle of nerves and pushed two fingers up into her. Amelie gasped. Lena lapped at her clit, scissoring her fingers at her entrance. Wetness coated her entire mouth, dripping down her chin. She desperately tried to keep pace, tried to please the quickening waves of Amelie’s hips.

The pale thighs wrapped around her face shook. She tightened her grip on Lena’s hair. “So close.”

The words sent a shiver down Lena’s spine. She moaned against her clit. Another finger, and then she was crooking them inside Amelie. Eyes half-lidded, she watched the dancer come undone. She was as beautiful here, coming beneath Lena’s tongue, as she was on stage. One hand wrapped in the sheets, the other shoving Tracer against her. Eyes closed, chest heaving. A husky scream tore from her throat. More wetness coated her chin, and Amelie went limp beneath her.

Her breaths were deep and uneven. “Merde.”

Lena pressed soft kisses up her stomach. “You’re mesmerizing.”

Amelie peered down at her, eyes dark. She gripped her by the jaw, and dragged her to her lips. Open-mouthed, they kissed, and Lena wondered if she liked the way her own come tasted. 

The bed creaked as Amelie flipped them. She wrapped her tongue around Lena’s nipples and she nearly wept at the relief. “God, yes.”

She danced her fingers down Tracer’s body, brushing them through the already-damp curls. “So wet for me, ma belle.”

Amelie worked her breasts with her mouth, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of what would be bruises tomorrow. She teased a nipple between her teeth, and Lena whimpered. It hurt-- but what was worse was Amelie’s teasing fingers, never touching where she needed, only dancing around her aching slit. “Please.”

She slid one leg around hers, and Lena felt the wetness still dripping from her. The dancer rolled her hips, a sigh escaping beneath her breath. Tracer watched her rut against her inner thigh, her legs spread rather obscenely. It sent a spark of heat beneath her belly. Then, Amelie caught her eye, one brow raised.

The next time she rolled her body, Amelie pushed three fingers up into her.

Light flashed around her eyes.

A moan tore through her. Her hips strained, trying to buck up, take Amelie’s fingers deeper. A hand splayed across her stomach pinned her to the sheets. She bit her own knuckle, trying not to scream. Amelie fucked her faster, fingers curling up against that spot, palm brushing her clit. Too much, _ too much, _ but not enough--

“You’re moaning so nicely for me, darling,” she cooed, tonguing Tracer’s earlobe. The vibration from her words clouded her mind. “So tight, taking me like the  _ good girl _ you are.”

She whimpered. Her body felt consumed, like a fire had been set beneath the sheets. Sweat slid into her eyes-- or were those tears? “ _ Please, _ ” she begged.

“Mm.” Amelie added another finger and Tracer briefly thought this might be her deathbed. She swirled at her entrance, then plunged into her depths, hitting a spot that made her see stars. “You like the way I fuck you, Tracer?”

_ It sounds so good in her mouth _ . She groaned, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Lena.”

“Look at me,” she commanded, and Tracer struggled to keep her eyes from rolling back, “Be a good girl and come for me, Lena.”

Her name never sounded so good. She could think that for only a moment, because then Amelie’s thumb brushed over her clit, and she crooked her fingers, and Lena’s breath hitched and she couldn’t swallow let alone speak, so she just cried out. “Fuck, Amelie, fuck--”

She watched Amelie’s mouth part, her eyes dark with an intensity she could get lost in, and then she pressed down against Lena’s stomach, curling the fingers inside of her. The pressure was too much and  _ oh _ \-- she clenched around Amelie, riding the fullness, and came with a near-sob. Everything blurred and she bucked against her, mewling through two waves of orgasms. Amelie mumbled strings of French against her neck and then she moaned and was coming in quick succession.

They lay like that, bodies limp and sweaty and flushed. The weight of Amelie upon her own was pleasant. She ran her hands through the silky hair splayed out around her, mesmerized by the way the street lights danced in waves along the inky strands. Noises arose from outside, distracting Lena. The hotel room felt secluded, intimate, like their own island. She forgot that the world still continued turning.

A breeze caressed Tracer, raising gooseflesh along her arms. Her nipples perked, and she could dimly make out the purple marks surrounding them. “Under the covers, luv?”

The dancer smiled, extricating herself from their embrace. She stood, stretching--  _ preening,  _ Lena thought-- and slipped into a robe. “In a moment.”

Lena watched her cross the room to rummage through her purse. Her legs were long and strong, muscles carved from years of dance. It was mesmerizing. Something about dancer’s routines-- Tracer could work out every day for the rest of her life, and never achieve that lean sort of muscle. She settled beneath the covers, yawning.

Amelie lit a cigarette and sat by the window.

(That’s how Lena would remember her: illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamps; head tilted back; smoke curling from her bruised lips.)

“Those aren’t any good for you, yaknow.”

She took a drag, crossed her arms. “Neither are you. But I find myself wanting more.”

Lena rolled over, so she was closer to the window, wrapping the blankets around her tighter. “Your daily dose of Lena Oxton is highly recommended by nine out of ten doctors.”

A smile flickered across Amelie’s face. “Only nine?”

“The last one was a guy. Didn’t get to experience what these hands can do.”

A harsh breeze blew into the room. The murmur of people wrapping up their night filled the air outside. The bedside clock read 02:30. 

“There’s an Overwatch party tomorrow night. You fancy coming as my plus one?”

Amelie’s eyes widened. She fidgeted with the white robe wrapped haphazardly around her. It complemented the pale of her skin and her dark locks nicely- she looked like one of those old paintings in the National Gallery. “I would not belong- I have nothing to wear.”

_ You’d belong anywhere you please _ , Lena thought _.  _ She smiled, her cheeks sore from how often she had done so tonight. “I know someone your size. If you like the dress, will ya come?”

The black eyes before her sparkled, even in the dim light. Amelie stood from the windowsill, sauntering back to bed. She let the robe fall to the floor. “I would very much like to come.”

*  *

 

Saturday started off wonderfully, because Tracer awoke to Amelie’s mouth drawing kisses up her thighs.

After they fucked, she gave Amelie some trousers and a scarf and walked her home. She invited her up, but Lena declined, on account of already being an hour late to the Overwatch convention. The cold air seemed to lessen when the dancer kissed her cheek and promised to see her later. Once she was inside safely, Tracer zipped across town, shooting a text to Hana.

> **DVA**
> 
> **10:30** oiiii can u distract the moms
> 
> **10:32** pls dont let em kno im late
> 
> **10:32** if theyre lookin for me jus say im in the toilets dealin w a red waterfall
> 
> **10:36** ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
> 
> **10:37** oh they already kno 
> 
> **10:39** mercy has some words for you  ㅠㅠ

 

She groaned, fumbling inside the convention center with a tray of coffees in hand. The main hall brimmed with people from wall to wall. Chatter bounced around the high ceilings, as well as the electronic buzz and beep of some of the booths. Hana ran into her in the middle of the aisle. She kissed her cheek, and grabbed a coffee as she led her away. “Come on, I wanna see you get roasted by the moms!”

A string of curses danced from her mouth.

They weaved their way to a stage in the front, where a panel was getting set up. Fareeha and Angela spoke in low tones beside one another, while Winston and Genji and Captain Amari laughed over something on the screen in front of them.

Lena smiled wide. “Oi! Mornin’ everyone!”

Mercy’s head swung quicker than she thought possible, the whites of her eyes visible even from here. “Ve had to postpone the panel because of you!”

Fareeha nodded to emphasize her girlfriend’s point. She had a flicker of a smile on her face though. “You’ve stressed Angela out quite a bit, Tracer.”

Double-teamed. Not fair. She rubbed at the back of her neck, depositing the coffee in front of Mercy. “Peace offering?”

Mercy furrowed her brows, but accepted the hot coffee with a pleased sigh. (Hopefully that was code for,  _ You’re off the hook, Lena _ , or, preferably,  _ You can definitely borrow one of my dresses for that beautiful French woman, Lena _ .)

Tracer took a seat between Captain Amari and Hana. “Where’re the commanders?”

Fareeha’s mother took the last coffee from her tray, sipping with a satisfied  _ ahh _ . “They’re dealing with some U.N. business. Glad I wasn’t dragged along.”

The panel proceeded without any more delays, and at the end, they took questions from the audience. It was filled with the usual stuff, from gossip to rumours of relationships to serious inquiries about their operations. Winston liked the latter the most.

The final question came, and a stocky man with an old-fashioned suit and goatee stepped up to the microphone. “Overwatch has been watching over us for more than two decades.” He cleared his throat, resuming, “But the Omnic Crisis ended in ‘49. Every thing must have an end, and it seems like that should have been it- but was that not enough glory for Morrison? Enough money for an agency no longer needed? One of your board members was arrested just last week for laundering, and- and King’s Row wasn’t even government-sanctioned! ”

Silence coated the air. Someone in the audience coughed. The man was breathing heavily, the exhales catching in the microphone.

Tracer bit her lip. She had words for such harsh accusations, but she was the youngest team member on the panel. It’s one thing to be late- she didn’t want to botch something so dire.

It was Captain Amari who sat forward, drumming her fingernails on the table. “As long as there are organizations who seek to do harm, sir, Overwatch will exist in order to thwart such plans, or to help heal that which we cannot stop.”

She leaned back, an arm slung around her chair, and sipped her drink.

A smatter of clapping rippled across the room- though its presence seemed to neither hearten nor discourage the Captain. She seemed to have her own way to measure things, and others’ opinions had no effect on that scale. Lena felt a surge of affection for the woman. 

Dr. Ziegler stood, clapping her hands together. “Thank you all for coming today. We love to hear from our people, and you provide so much to inspire, motivate, and enlighten us. We here- and all of us at Overwatch- wish you the best holidays, and a wonderful New Year.”

The crowd slowly dispersed. Mercy corralled them all to a private floor that was an elevator ride away. Some other Overwatch members lounged about, napping or charging their holos or grabbing a bite to eat. 

Tracer caught the medic as she headed towards the Relaxation Lounge (which was the fancy name for the dark room where everyone knocked out for a bit). “Doctor Ziegler- I was, uh, wonderin’-” She inhaled sharply, and the words tumbled out. “I wanted to bring this lady I met as my plus one tonight, but she doesn’t have any fancy wear and so, could I maybe borrow a dress from you, for her?”

Mercy blinked owlishly. She opened her mouth, closed it, then smiled. “Yes, Lena, of course. I’ll have one sent up to your room.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks so much, mom!”

Before she zipped away, she relished the warm blush that spread over Mercy’s cheeks as she bumped shoulders with Fareeha. “See? I told you they call me that.”

The rest of the convention passed. In quiet moments, Tracer found herself thinking of  last night, replaying the little moments that made her eyelids flutter and her breath catch. She felt like a baby gay again, unable to get someone she barely knew out of her mind. It just… felt like she  _ did _ know her, the way the sea had always known the shore-- traveling the world over, but always crashing back into one another. Something that was bound to happen.

Tracer was eating her lunch on the open grass area besides the convention center with Hana when her phone buzzed. A crowd of protesters had gathered outside, and she ripped her gaze from them to check her notifications.

> **amelie**
> 
> **14:06** what time should i be at your hotel, tracer?
> 
> **14:06** it starts at 20.00 so maybe 1930???
> 
> **14:07** does that time machine ruin your sense of time
> 
> **14:07** or have you always been like this
> 
> **14:08** i will be there at 1900
> 
> **14:10** u keep talking like that and i’ll uninvite u missy
> 
> **14:15** then who would warm your bed tonight, ma belle

 

“What do you think their problem is?”

Lena looked up from her texts, trying to suppress the grin threatening her face. “Huh?”

Hana ate a handful of chips, squinting at the protestors. “Them. Why are they all up in arms about us? We’re just trying to make things better.”

A dozen people gathered on the pavement. Several signs said ‘who watches overwatch?’ while others had clever rhymes and wordplay on the organization’s name. Tracer shrugged, finishing her burrito. “Guess we’re not doing good enough.”

They hurried inside as the crowd grew more agitated. Tracer tried to chalk it up to people wanting something to be angry at, but it still made something inside her ache.

 

* * *

 

The knock on her hotel door had her jumping up and nearly tripping over herself. She smoothed back her hair, careful not to muss up the gel, and opened the door. 

Amelie smiled softly at her with deep red lips. Her face was all made up, her hair sleek and straight down her back. She was, quite frankly, perfect.

“I think the joggers really make this look.”

She laughed charmingly, swatting at Tracer. “Let me see zis dress.”

She locked the door behind them, and swept her hands dramatically in front of the white plastic bag. The label on it had only a smiley face with a halo.

Amelie disappeared into the bathroom with the hangar. 

Tracer buttoned her shirt and worked on knotting the red tie properly. After all these years, it still took her three tries to make a halfway decent one. Then the vest over her accelerator, and the jacket, and  _ voila _ . She looked as presentable as ever. 

“All black suits you, Lena.”

Her cheeks warmed. She caught Amelie’s eye in the mirror, felt her mouth open with an audible pop. 

The dancer’s legs looked impossibly longer in simple black heels. She trailed her eyes up, admiring the coy slit of the dress. The black fabric clung tightly to Amelie’s curves. A heart shape framed the bodice of the dress, pushing up her breasts in a way that made Lena dizzy. A translucent sort of cape trailed after her, sparkling in the lamplight. Amelie stopped directly behind Lena, surveying her suit in the mirror. “Let me fix your tie.”

Her blush deepened. How could things be this easy with someone she just met? She turned around, suddenly nervous to be in the same breathing space as this dark goddess. “Alright then.”

Amelie sucked on her bottom lip as she redid her tie. Head tilted, fingers deft. After a moment, she fiddled with the finished product, then patted Lena’s chest. “There.”

“Merci!”

“Your accent is terrible.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but yours is too,” Lena laughed, grabbing her peacoat and wallet. “French accents are just sexier. Unfair, if you ask me.”

Amelie pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I didn’t.”

Tracer sucked her teeth playfully, and offered the offender her arm. “Shall we?”

 

They walked into the gala, and Tracer had never been prouder: on time,  _ and  _ with a gorgeous date.

Extravagant chandeliers glittered high above, hanging from ceilings that even Winston couldn’t jump to. Classical statues and white tables with bundles of snacks broke up the enormous ballroom. The golden staircase on either side of the room led up to a balcony, where she spotted Commander Morrison and some other high-up people.

She looked over to ask Amelie that French word for little snacks, but the woman’s face was drawn in a scowl. “What’s the matter?”

The valet took her coat and gloves, and Amelie smiled for him. “ _ Merci _ \--” she turned to Lena, crinkled her nose. “How much did all of zis cost? It’s… extravagant.”

She offered her arm. “I dunno. I’m not important enough to know stuff like that.”

They weaved through the crowds, the growing murmur of a dozen conversations settling around them. Hana waved at her from their table, beneath the golden streams of decoration hanging from the balcony. Lucio was fervently telling a story beside her, in a velvet green suit that Tracer  _ needed.  _ When they made it through the last people blocking their way, Lucio smiled. “You’re on time?”

Hana leaned back, giggling. “No, we must be hallucinating.”

A flush heated her cheeks. “Aw, come on, not in front of my date guys.”

Hana stood, throwing out her arms to Amelie. “Well, I like you already, whipping her into shape.”

Amelie’s eyes widened, and for a moment Lena thought she was going to step away from the oncoming hug. She blinked, laughed, and pressed a kiss to Hana’s cheek. “I am glad. You both look enchanting.”

White chiffon wrapped around D.Va’s lithe frame, with golden accents along the bodice. Save for the delicate green choker, she matched perfectly with the decor. She struck a pose, showing off the gold heels on her feet. “Thank you, thank you.”

Laughing, they all sat, and Lucio continued whatever story he had be telling previous to their arrival. 

Lena turned to Amelie, leaning one arm on her chair. “Do you need anything? Want me to get us some drinks?”

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a habit Tracer found charming. “I will grab some for us. You stay with your friends. What would you like?”

She listed a few drinks and Amelie swept away. Her hips swung just as nicely in heels as in her pointe shoes, and Lena found it hard to swallow for a moment.

“Calling Tracer, have we lost you to the fourth dimension of time again?”

She winced at the joke, pushing away the dark tendrils it brought up. “Sorry. What’s up?”

Hana leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “I said did you notice who’s here? They just flew in.”

Lena followed her vision, noting Morrison, Reyes, Amari and two other people she didn’t recognize talking above them. “Yea, well, I saw the Commander as I walked in. He’s kind of hard to miss.”

As if on cue, he laughed, the sound loud and robust. He clapped Reyes on the back, the other man smiling. They both were clad in smart tuxedos.

“I heard that there’s been infighting, and that’s why they didn’t come to any of the panels. Reyes has been stewing over Morrison getting command of Overwatch, while he only gets Blackwatch.”

She scoffed. “They look happy as a married couple to me.”

Hana sat back, pouting. She hated when people didn’t gossip. “I’m telling you, I think something’s happening no one’s talking about. They’re keeping us in the dark.”

“In the dark about what?” came a familiar voice behind them. 

Fareeha approached the table, raising a brow. A fake smile spread across Hana’s face. “Nothing much, Miss Amari.”

She approached, her stride graceful and strong, like the soldier she was. Lena had always admired her. “Don’t call me that.” She took a seat across from Tracer, dark eyes intent on the two of them. “You should be mindful of your tongues. There are many ears here tonight, and not all friends of Overwatch.”

If she could zip out of here she would. Instead, she hung her head, frowning. The night felt heavier, all of the sudden, and Hana’s words held more weight, now that they were forbidden.

Amelie’s chiming laugh reached her ears, and she felt affection rush through her.

“You must keep the dress, you look so much better in it!”

Lena shifted, watching her date and Dr. Ziegler approach. 

“I couldn’t--”

“I insist,” Angela pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then leaned over to press one to Lena’s. She made her way around the table, and finally to her girlfriend. Fareeha got a kiss on the mouth. (And a faint blush.) “You look beautiful, Liebling.”

The sparkling champagne Amelie brought back tasted fruity and sweet enough Lena liked it. She preferred her own beer, though, which Amelie declared disgusting.

Another Overwatch pilot, Maria, joined the table with her wife, Ngozu. 

“Lieutenant Estrada talks about you _ all _ the time.” Tracer laughed, twirling a strand of Amelie’s hair between her fingers. “I was wondering when we’d get to meet you.”

Ngozu looked at her wife, adoration clear in her gaze. “I hope she doesn’t go on too much. She’s been known to babble a bit.”

Some servers passed through the hall, dropping off tiny plates of food. (Everything in France came in miniscule portions that Lena needed ten of to feel full.) A live orchestra played melodies that she might have recognized if she were cultured in that sort of thing. Some French politician spoke from the microphone up on the balcony, followed by some bloke Lena didn’t know. After several glasses of drink, she felt warm and happy. The table’s conversation was light, and she was grateful for Amelie by her side.

“So, you never answered my question, that day we first met.” Lena leaned in, watching the soft red lips smile at her. “Why don’t you celebrate the holidays?”

Amelie’s smile faded, and she sipped her champagne. “I just wasn’t raised on them. We didn’t celebrate anything growing up.”

She couldn’t imagine. Her mum and dad spent weeks decorating for Christmas, and the tree lighting was always the best part of Lena’s winters. “Blimey… were you a Jehovah’s Witness?”

She chuckled, cheeks pink behind her glass. “No, not quite.”

Lena ran her fingers along the back of Amelie’s hand, tracing around the nearly translucent skin. “Well. Could I get you a gift anyways?”

She gazed at her under dark eyelashes. “You’ve invited me to a million-dollar gala and procured me a dress. I think that’s a gift, no?”

“The tickets are free for me, it doesn’t count.” She slid her hand inside Amelie’s, relishing the feeling. “Please? Just something so you won’t forget me, yaknow. When I leave.”

She didn’t want to think about leaving, but she wasn’t daft. She’d get on a plane to go to her next Watchpoint, and Amelie would move on, like they always did.  _ The only commitment a pilot makes is to her aircraft _ ; she didn’t remember where she heard that, but it had rung true so far. 

A mechanical screech rang through the speaker, and Commander Morrison laughed through the microphone. “Sorry about that,” he rumbled. “Good evening. It’s wonderful to see all the beautiful faces of the people that make Overwatch everything it is.”

The room quieted. Amelie turned her attention to the balcony, lips parted. A lick of jealousy curled inside Lena; Jack always drew the attention of women. She shoved it away, though, and listened to his speech.

“It is a great pleasure for me and I feel deeply honored to host tonight’s dinner on   
behalf of the command centre headquarters of the international task force that we all know and love…” He paused, holding his jaw high. “Overwatch.”

The room erupted in applause. He relished in it for a few moments, then continued.

“As you are well aware of, the world today is not yet a secure place. Conflicts  
occur anytime and anywhere due to differences of interests. We all have to participate in  
peacekeeping operations which are vital undertakings to solve these crises.  
“The key factor to a successful peacekeeping operation is international cooperation.  
Overwatch, as an operation founded by the UN, has an obligation to participate in  
peacekeeping operations, and we have been trying to improve our readiness to perform such a sacred mission. We are the largest organization, with more than twenty bases globally. 

“I know we’ve made news recently… and not all of it good.” Here he looked over the crowd, and somehow it felt like he met each and every one of their eyes. “When a garden grows so big, weeds inevitably will creep upon the plants. But we will continue to root them out, and it will make our work even stronger for it.

“On behalf of Overwatch and all of the people we serve, I would like to express our deep gratitude to the workers and volunteers who work tirelessly to make this world a safer, better place. And I would also like to thank the Secretary-General, for all she does to support us, and to the concerned public for their sincere gestures. I wish each and everyone of you health and success. A toast!”

Lena’s cheeks were sore from smiling. Everyone around the room raised their drinks.

“To all of us. Thank you all for coming.”

The Commander sketched a half-bow and returned to his seat. The chime of clinking glasses filled the air. As Lena’s joined the rest of her table’s, she remembered how good it felt to be a part of something greater than herself.

The rest of the evening felt warm and golden. Amelie chatted and laughed with all her friends, and the sparkles in their eyes seemed to be approval. After the dessert dishes were taken away, the centre of the floor cleared. The music loudened, and chatter quieted. The Secretary-General and her husband took to the floor, and soon enough, people flooded to dance. 

Lena stood, bowing at the waist. “May I have this dance?”

Amelie looked up, champagne resting delicately in her palm, and blushed. “I would love to.”

She deposited her drink on the table and slid her fingers into Lena’s waiting hand. Tracer lead her to the floor, weaving between the outskirts of the crowd. She faced Amelie, looking up at the dark eyes. “I’m no ballerina, just to warn you.”

She smiled, wide and cheeky. “ _ C'est en forgeant qu'on devient forgeron _ .”

Before she could ask, Amelie positioned Lena’s hand around the curve of her hip, and all her thoughts were gone. She rubbed against the soft fabric of her dress, and then took Amelie’s right hand in her own. Starting on her left leg, she stepped forward, hesitantly. Amelie followed, their bodies close but not quite touching. It was enjoyable, and it was teasing.

They made their first turn round unsteadily, Tracer losing the beat midway. Amelie’s lips quirked. “Let me lead, cherie. Like zis-” she adjusted them, taking Lena’s right hand in hers and sliding her palm against Lena’s torso. “ _ Un,  _ deux, trois,  _ un _ , deux, trois-”

It took them a few turns, and Lena found herself following the numbers Amelie continue murmuring, letting herself be led around the ballroom. She liked the give and take of the waltz, the chase between two partners. It was rather romantic.

“Let’s try a turn,” Amelie offered.

Lena nodded. On three, Amelie released her, left hand guiding Lena beneath her arm. As she came out of the spin, the ballerina caught her once more, pulling her in so their noses brushed. Lena felt her breath trying to catch up as they stood, flush against each other. She didn’t dance often, but she doubted she’d ever enjoy it as much as this.

“Excusez-moi,” came an interruption from behind Tracer. She blinked, having forgotten that anything existed outside of their intimate dance. “Might I steal a dance with this enchanting lady?”

"Mr. Lacroix!" Lena fumbled, offering her hand. He shook it, a sideways smile quirking his lips. His moustache was two expertly tapered lines. "Congrats on the promotion, sir."

"Merci, Cadet. I watched your speech the other day. Quite marvelous. Who is your lovely date?"

Amelie paused, looking him over. "I am Amelie, and I can speak for myself."

He inclined his head, managing to look dignified in his chagrin. "Je suis désolé." He kissed her hand. "I have no doubt a capable woman like yourself could do anything she so desired."

Lena almost rolled her eyes-- almost. She had some self control, after all.

Amelie smiled though, an eyebrow cocked. "And you would be correct, monsieur."

He started to say something in French, and Lena saw Lucio standing by himself across the crowd. She squeezed Amelie's shoulder. "I'm going to make some rounds. Don't take her for too long," she joked, flashing an empty smile to Gerard Lacroix. the two began a dance and Lena strode off the floor.

Lucio perked up when he saw her, his cheeks dimpling. "Hey Trace! You and Amelie looked amazing out there."

Lena doubted she looked anywhere near amazing; she was just background for the show that Amelie put on. She laughed though, and clapped him on the back. "Thanks man. Is Hana off streaming somewhere?"

For the first time since she'd known him, the singer looked uncomfortable. "She, uh, said she's talking to the Commander. About me. Being on the team? Possibly."

Lucio's heart was too big for his body. She leaned against the wall beside him. "You want to work with Overwatch? In addition to your music  _ and _ multiple forms of activism or...?"

He twirled the blonde ends of his dreads between his fingers. "I don't know. It would be a steady paycheck, which could help with the charity I'm working for. On the other hand, it’s a big commitment, and I don’t really know what I’d bring to Overwatch and--"

"You'd be a great addition to the team, Lucio. Don't let Hana talk you into something you don't want to do, though. She cares about you, and would understand either way."

He looked up, a sparkle brightening his eyes. His voice was soft. "Thanks Lena. I'm glad we're friends."

She wrapped an arm around plush green velvet, chuckling. "Doesn't mean I'm gonna go easy on you when we finally get together for that race."

Hana approached then, clawing her way out of a party of people. She clapped her hands, trying to hide the smile blooming on her face.

"Good news, Lucio."

He extricated himself from Tracers arms. She tossed him a wink in encouragement, and walked away. No need to involve herself in a couple's drama. She instead walked towards the stairs, her eyes drifting to the dance floor. She easily found Amelie, like a beacon of light, her curtain of dark black hair whipping around them. Gerard held his elbows up high, looking every inch like he belonged in those old movies. He took a long step forward, Amelie’s legs seeming to chase each of his. They spun on the balls of their feet, their bodies long and lithe. Some people on the floor took notice, pausing their dances to watch. They were mesmerizing. Gerard leaned her back, the sharp line of her jaw and soft curve of her neck reminding Lena of something more intimate than dance. He dipped her further as the music slowed. She slid her foot up to her knee, slowly straightening it out. Gerard held her like that, nearly parallel to the floor, as those around them began to clap. Amelie’s smile was radiant.

Resentment burned against her chest.  _ This bloody Lacroix gets a promotion, and suddenly he’s whisking away other people’s dates? Bugger off.  _ France seemed to have a different code of ethics than where she was from.

She shook off the thoughts and traveled upstairs. Captain Amari and her daughter were laughing loudly, as Morrison and Reyes hid behind their glasses.

Fareeha said something in Arabic and Ana nearly spit out her drink.

Mercy giggled into her champagne glass. She stopped when she spotted Tracer. “Lena! We were talking about you earlier, when you were on the floor. You looked simply marvelous!”

She waved off the compliment, doubting its accuracy. Not that Dr. Ziegler was anything close to a liar, but she was almost naive in her kindness. Like that time she told Lena that her blue leggings looked great underneath pink ripped jeans. She grabbed a drink from the stand nearby and saluted the Commander. “Nice speech, sir. Glad you and Commander Reyes could make it.”

Reyes quirked a brow. They’d never formally met, only spoke over comms in King’s Row. Genji, her sparring partner, spoke highly of him, and everyone else she spoke with seemed to barely know the man. Captain Amari said one day that, though he seemed stoic on the outside, he had a soft heart that only a few were allowed to see. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hate being held up in politics.”

She frowned. “Sorry that Blackwatch has been getting such bad press, sir. The accusations they’re making are out of line.”

He coughed. She thought he looked tired. “I appreciate it, Cadet.”

She glanced over the balcony, eyes drawn immediately to the dark hair weaving around the dance floor. This time, Amelie was looking at her too. She felt her gaze from across the building, reveled in its warmth. This…  _ thing _ between them-- it was dangerous. She hadn’t felt anything like it before.

The song ended and Amelie and Gerard bowed to one another. He pressed a hand against her hip, moving to say something in her ear. She ducked away, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. With a mischievous smile, she found Lena’s eyes once more, and nodded towards the area beside Tracer. A gold framed sign marked  _ toilettes  _ hung beside her _.  _ (Even the loo had to be fancy here.)

She made her excuses and headed towards the bathrooms. She was pretty certain Fareeha winked at her as she left.

Not one to disappoint, the French’s bathrooms had velvet couches and ornate designs carved along the coffered ceilings. A nude statue posed in the centre of the room, gesturing vaguely towards the actual toilets. She walked past the marble woman to the mirrors, smoothing back her hair.

The door creaked and the click of heels alerted her to Amelie’s presence. Before she could utter a sound, she shoved her up against the sinks. Her fingers crumpled in the front of Lena’s shirt, mouth insistent. She opened willingly, framing Amelie’s face with her hands, sighing into their kiss. It left her dizzy, like a high.

“I want to taste you, ma belle.”

Lena’s face heated. “Here?”

The crack in her voice was embarrassing, but Amelie paid no mind, clawing at Tracer’s trousers.

Something felt off, Lena thought distantly. Why was Amelie in such a hurry? For a moment, she considered her date turning into a pumpkin at midnight, and nearly huffed a laugh.

A metallic _ click _ froze both of their actions. One of the stalls opened. 

A tall woman sauntered out, hair like fire. She smoothed it back, walking to the sink directly next to them. A creak of the handle, and water flowed into the marble basin. Rubbing soap into her hands, she made eye contact with Amelie in the mirror. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Amelie swallowed, extricating her hand from Lena’s pants. 

The Irish woman had skin pale as snow, and her eyes were unsettling sharp. She put Lena on edge. “Uh. Sorry. We were just, uh--”

Those piercing eyes traveled down their bodies, settling on the blue light emanating beneath Tracer’s shirt. “Cadet Oxton. I would love to examine your chronal accelerator some day, if you’ve the time.”

Lena connected the dots and assumed this must be the scientist that worked with Blackwatch.

Tracer had been in a lot of awkward situations. Being caught having sex in a public bathroom by an esteemed coworker? Definitely topped them all. She laughed, stilted, and rubbed the back of her neck. “Yea. Don’t tell anyone about this and I’ll have all the time in the world for ya, doc.”

Moira straightened her tie in the mirror. Seemingly satisfied, she nodded. She brushed a hand along Amelie’s back as she departed. “Save a dance for me, pretty thing.”

The door creaked and shut, and the bathroom was silent.

Amelie dropped her head against Lena’s neck. “ _ Merde _ . I’m sorry.”

She shivered under the tickle of her breath. “She definitely enjoyed that. Power trip much?”

A light laugh brushed against her clavicle. “You make even the worst situations into something nice, Lena.”

Her chest constricted. “Let’s get back to the party. We can finish this later, at the hotel.”

She pressed a kiss to Amelie’s cheek, then to her forehead. Then, she was kissing her all over, and Amelie was laughing, music lovelier than any orchestra.

The rest of the night passed like a dream. Lena didn’t drink anymore, for fear she might forget any of it. She danced with Amelie, and Dr. Ziegler, and several other friends. Watching everyone circle around and around, almost like a unit, mesmerized her. She let the music drown other thoughts out, let the gala take her to a place where she didn’t have to worry about the news or her next assignment. 

At the end of the last song of the night, Lena dipped Amelie. The dancer arched, head tilted towards the floor. She pressed a kiss against her throat. “You’re brilliant.”

The room erupted in applause, and the orchestra stood up and bowed. Tendrils of conversations wrapping up filled the area. Tucking Amelie’s arm under her own, she searched through the crowd to say her goodbyes. They swiped their name cards from the table as souvenirs.

They took a taxi back to the hotel. In the hotel, Lena threw off her coat and jacket, and collapsed on the bed. “What a night.”

Amelie shucked off her gown and curled up beside her. “I very much liked dancing with you, Lena.”

Her voice was thick with sleep, and it made Tracer’s heart quiver. She yawned, pulling Amelie tight against her. “I very much like everything about you.”

Whether she heard her or responded, Lena didn’t know. Sleep pulled her under, and she went willingly.

  
  


* * *

 

The clamor of her cell phone woke Tracer. She sat up groggily, searching the sheets for it. “‘Ello?”

“I know you’re probably too busy getting laid, but you need to turn the t.v. on.”

She tsked at Hana’s reprimand and clicked on the telly. 

“--we’re not sure how many people have been injured--”

“-- But what’s it like out there, Denise--”

“It’s hell, Richard. Montreal is in flames.”

Lena pressed a hand against the screen, mouth agape. “When?”

Hana’s sigh came through over the phone. “An hour ago. Bombs in dozens of different places. We’re getting deployed, so hope you’re packed.”

Tears burned against her eyes and she clenched her fist. “See you soon.”

She ended the call and tried to reign her feelings in. 

The blonde woman on the telly kept looking back at the destruction burning behind her. A city on fire. “We have reports that the terrorist organization, Talon, has claimed responsibility for this attack.”

Tracer slams a hand against the table, relishing in the shock of pain it sends up her arm. She should have been there. No, they should have already taken care of Talon. Gerard Lacroix had just been assigned to research the organization, because Overwatch hadn’t taken their threats seriously before. This was their own fault. She wiped tears from her face and stood. “Amelie?”

The bathroom was empty. 

She changed into leggings and a sweater and packed the rest of her stuff haphazardly. Throwing on her coat, she noticed a white piece of paper on the pillow. It was the place card from the gala:  _ Mlle. Amelie Guillard  _ was writ across it in delicate silver engraving. Lena dropped her bag, leaning over the bed to grab it. 

Neat handwriting. Lena wouldn’t have expected different.

 

_ This weekend with you has been lovelier than anything I can remember. Thank you  _

_ for giving me a memory I shall always cherish. I am no good at goodbyes, so it  _ _ i _ _ s  _

_ better we part like this. You deserve more than I can give, ma belle. I hope you may find it. _

_ Yours, Amelie _

 

The plane ride to Montreal felt endless.


End file.
